Just One Teacher

You all know the story... Dirt poor kid, city schools and one magical teacher who turns their life around. Well, here's my story.

Mr. Forest did not turn my life around, but he did leave a lasting impression. I was attending Central Visual and Performing Arts High School, if you want to call hanging out in the bathroom all day "attending". At the beginning of the school year, I'd gone to all my classes to decide which ones would be worth my time. Acting class sucked that year, so I usually skipped it. French class I could take or leave. Math was amusing for about a minute, then I got tired of watching my classmates throw their worksheets out the window and shoot spitballs at the teacher. Then there was History. My first day in History class, Mr. Forest gave a speech. It went something like this, "I teach History in this class. I teach it because I love it, and I'd like you to love it too. If you plan on goofing off, you might as well leave now."
Here he paused. A few kids got up and left, the rest of us stayed glued to our seats. He had basically dared us to behave. His demeanor suggested that we were only marginally worth his time, but he'd give us a chance to prove ourselves. After the troublemakers had left, taking their teen angst and authority-bucking with them, Mr. Forest continued.
"Good. I show a lot of movies in this class. You will not sleep. You will not bother the students who want to learn something. Troublemakers will be ejected, and you will not return... Now then, I promise you will learn everything I can teach you. All you have to do is show up and pay attention... I understand, sometimes things happen. You can always talk to me."

That's the gist of what he said. Many teachers before him have said the same things, but Mr. Forest said it with feeling. He didn't make threats, he didn't stand there powerless, pleading with us to behave. He was panning for gold in that classroom. He knew we were worth his time, and suddenly, we knew it too.

Barring the days I cut school entirely, I always attended Mr. Forest's History class. I even did my homework. Then the bad thing happened. I cut school and got raped. In the weeks after the rape, I skipped school entirely. I spent my days wandering the streets, or hiding in the house. I could not face Mr. Forest. I had done a stupid thing and paid for it mightily, and even though Mr. Forest said we could talk to him, I couldn't set foot in his class again.
When I finally went back to school, I avoided History class. One day Mr. Forest spotted me in the hallway. He looked down his nose at me and said, "You haven't been in class recently." I had nothing to say to that. I wanted to ask him if I could come back, if I were somehow worth a second chance, but I was afraid of the answer.

The next time I passed Mr. Forest in the hall, he acted like he didn't know me. That stung. I was no longer one of his students. His magical world of History, and the safe haven of his classroom, was closed to me. I think of Mr. Forest often. He taught more than History. He taught me about the world. There are people who will share everything with you, but they won't always give you second chances. Mr. Forest taught me to use my first chance wisely. Maturity taught me to speak up, no matter how ugly that speaking up may be; because you have to ask for a second chance.